Why does this lighthouse guard the open marshes?
Who are those gulls? And tell me, what is that smell?
Where are the ships? What are those unheard shanties?
The fishermen have drowned and gone to hell.
The stink of fish lingers, long after the event.
The market hard has softened to a fen,
The harbour wall has fallen in the sea,
And all the stones have been picked up by men
For schools and churches and other essential buildings.
I daresay some went for barns and cowsheds,
Many of which have long since fallen down,
And a few may possibly be found in municipal flowerbeds.
No comments:
Post a Comment